Halo Versus Star Wars: Reach, I
by Exterminatus Extremis
Summary: The Alliance launches their attack on Reach, which they believe to be Humanity's homeworld. The Terrans' powerful ally Daniels is forced to abandon them for matters at home...  Part 1 of a trilogy.
1. Part I: Stall

**Halo Versus Star Wars**

**REACH, I**

** [I] **

_**Stall**_

It swirled around in the black of space slowly. He felt like it was watching him. That may have been because it was shaped like an elongated eye, but it may also have been because he'd been staring at it for an hour. It was hard to ignore the thing, directly outside the window of one's quarters. It had a tendency to catch the eye, whispering at the edges of vision until you suddenly woke up with dried, red eyes. He'd seen men, women, machines and gods go mad looking into its depths.

Tearing his gaze away, he opaqued the wall of his quarters. He himself was in no danger of falling victim to its madness, but he had important work to do. Replacing the helmet on its charging rack with the rest of the suit of armor, he strode to the large desk set into the floor opposite the rack. Displays blinked on at his approach, showering him with blue-tinted light. It wasn't just from the displays that he looked the way he did. Decades spent in armor and in artificial light had rendered him grey-haired and very, very pale. Were he to lie still, one would think he'd been drained of his blood and left for dead.

Pale and stocky. He didn't have the build of a soldier, nor the face of one, but he exuded power just the same. It was in the way he carried himself, a calm dignity and grace of a sort.

Daniels sat at the desk of screens and began to sift through the data pouring in from the Rift just outside the window. All detectable energy levels were still rising, though it was barely noticeable. It had been doing so for something over a week, which meant that something big was on its way through. They'd turned to him for information, but past his predicted arrival in the Milky Way Galaxy, he had no knowledge of the events that would take place in this War. The data had been lost to history.

He wasn't expecting any reinforcements from Asylum, though. They were busy enough on their end. That meant that whatever was about to pour through the Rift was from that other galaxy, and likely hostile. To take this long to transmit showed that it must have been huge. Probably several full fleets; at least seven hundred ships. Certainly much larger than his own. In less than a day, they'd know.

He thought back to the summit on Reach Station. For the majority of it, he'd stood by and let everyone else do the talking so he could get a read on each of them. Occasionally he was asked a question directly, or called to fill in some information no one else knew, and for that he simply recited data. Irrelevant details would just meddle with the process and force him to stay at the meeting longer than was necessary.

He paid special attention to anyone Chiron was able to identify as associated with the Office of Naval Intelligence. He analyzed and recorded their faces, mannerisms, and voice patterns in the eventuality that he would be forced to remove one or more of them. Admiral Xiong, he noticed, was unsubtly doing the same to him. The man must have delivered Daniels' message already.

It was decided that Daniels would lead the fleet assigned to hold the Rift from further attacks, given the power and numbers at his disposal. This, he agreed with. If the enemy took their side of the Rift, it was all over. They could attack at will while the Terrans would have to struggle to counter.

"Finished staring into the abyss, Admiral?" Came the quiet, deep voice of Chiron. Daniels didn't turn as the AI appeared behind him. "I hope you weren't driving yourself insane by looking for logic in it somewhere. I know you love to do that to things, but I guarantee you won't find it in the Rift."

"I know that better than most, Chiron. You didn't come by just to try to joke with me." Chiron had long ago learned that anything of the sort was futile. "Report."

"Nothing new with the Rift. We've received word from Reach that Reach Station is completely repaired and upgraded with the modifications we suggested. There was some complaint about the cost of the internal defense system, and that it wouldn't be worth it in the long run. The Elites have arrived in force at the edge of the system. Evidently a large portion of their fleet is engaged primarily in hunting down the remainder of the Covenant Loyalist forces. A scientific expedition was sent by ONI to a newly-discovered Halo installation, the fourth so far. Their official aim is to study the environment and the wildlife there. The true objective is to discern whether this installation also contains Flood specimens, and from there...well, you know how that goes." Daniels nodded.

"Any word from Throne or the Council?"

"No, but we did receive a brief update from Thule. He tracked the source of the Warpspawned Flood ONI received. It was someone calling himself the Operative. He evidently also appeared within the Sangheili fleet sent to destroy the Delivery project. He overloaded their engine cores and destroyed the fleet, teleported to the vessel transporting the Flood, and allowed the specimens to escape. The vessel appeared over Reach a short time later. There has been no trace of the Operative since then."

"Thule's thoughts on the Operative's origin?"

"Any number of extremists, warmongers, profiteers, and other militant factions could have sent him. Of that prowess and level of technology, there's only one." Daniels sighed briefly, close an admittance to annoyance as he'd gotten in a long time.

"The Dominion?" Chiron nodded to the back of his head, knowing that an answer wasn't really needed.

"If he remained in his armor and limited his contact with the people of this galaxy, he could have passed as a human. It would have been easy for him to-"

"I understand, Chiron," Daniels interrupted. "Alert Throne to this. Tell Thule to cease all operations regarding any previous orders. He is to muster a fleet and cripple the Dominion's navy. Make a request that Throne send another fleet as backup. Hopefully they'll get the message this time. After he is finished with this, he should make repairs and then come to the Milky Way to help me fortify it." The consoles started to whine, and he turned to find that the Rift was showing unexpected activation. He rose to his feet and walked to the second door in the quarters. It slid open, revealing a closet-sized chamber beyond. Stepping within, he was bathed in light and the sound of whirring machinery.

An array of mechanical armatures clanked down from the ceiling and out of the walls, holding the various pieces of his armor. One by one, they snapped into place on his exoskin suit, starting with the feet and working up to the head. The helmet he picked up from a pedestal that rose next to him as the arms retracted. It locked into place and lit up, instantly showing him a plethora of data about his surroundings.

"Let's begin."

"Admiral on the bridge!" Came the signal a short while later. He put the crew at ease and sat in the specially-built chair that dominated the pulpit from which he commanded his fleet. Data ports connected to the_ Fist of Dorn_'s sensory systems. He received instantaneous updates from the sensor batteries themselves this way.

He watched the exterior feed as the Rift went through the stuttering, violent transitional phase.

It wasn't long before the first wave of the enemy arrived. After that came another, and another. Hundreds of vessels appeared in the space of a few minutes. They began to move off, angling away from his fleet.

"They're committing a lot to this attack. What's the vector they're splitting off at?" The coordinates ticked onto the screen. Daniels wasted no time in opening a fleetwide channel at seeing the predicted destination.

"This is Admiral Daniels. The enemy is headed for Reach. Do not allow any of those vessels to escape." Statistically, he knew, they wouldn't be able to stop all of them from jumping to Hyperspace. They could, however, destroy enough to give Reach the edge.

"Admiral, a detachment of six hundred of the enemy is turning to address us. If we don't refocus fire, they'll cut us to shreds." Daniels briefly considered his options.

"Can we tell whose fleet it is?"

"Patterns are consistent with a Sith fleet. I am unable to tell which, however."

"Very well. All ships, refocus targeting solutions on the fleet heading toward us. Chiron, how many warships can we spare to chase the greater part of that armada?"

"Given the time it will take them to clear the gravity field of the Rift, and the predicted strength of the Sith fleet, my best estimate is a hundred, give or take ten."

"Make it happen. Communications, send a message to Reach. Tell them to begin evacuation of nonessential personnel and prepare to come under siege." It took moments for his orders to be carried out.

"Part of the Sith fleet is changing course to engage the pursuit detachment. They're adjusting heading to defend." Such was the boon of tenured crews and commanders. Little time was wasted on frivolities like the chain of command when the situation called for swift action. However, it left the rest of the armada to assault Reach.

It was easily twice their initial estimates, too. Over a thousand warships had appeared at the Rift. Only half of that was currently engaged with his fleet. The rest were slipping away towards their destination, and even an optimist had to realize that the defenses would be crushed under that sort of power.

The _Fist of Dorn _reached the enemy fleet four minutes after that. From afar, two great lances pierced a Super Star Destroyer, etching a great line up its shields and eventually stabbing through its bridge and into a frigate behind it. As the capacitors cooled, a pair of large missiles were launched at a dreadnought that was beginning to fire on the great ship. The Kaelas-type Fusion Missiles impacted on the shields of the smaller warship, miniature stars flashing into existence. The shields died and another Asylum vessel tore it open from above. the gun crews in the flagship of the Eighth Task Force let loose a hail of energy that finished off the Super Star Destroyer, which had recovered from the initial strike.

Chiron "felt" something hit his ship from the port side. He saw a pair of _Executor-_class Star Dreadnoughts pouring fire in the _Fist_'s direction.

The _Fist of Dorn _was officially labeled as a _Nova_-class Battle Cruiser. It was rated to survive encounters with weapons that had the energy output of several stars, and could deliver such itself. The powerful weaponry of the _Executor_-class would weaken it over time, but the enemy would need something much bigger to kill it before it killed them. The other vessel behind the _Fist_ was not so lucky, however; after its successful kill of the smaller dreadnought vessel, the _Executor_ weapons tore it to pieces.

By now, the Eversor Cannons had cooled and were ready to fire once more. Chiron tilted the great vessel just slightly to allow the mounts to sight the dreadnoughts, then let loose. A bolt hit each ship, severely weakening their shields. They began to peel off, but the AI had already ordered a broadside. The two venerable dreadnoughts exploded brilliantly.

Elsewhere, a trio of Asylum destroyers strongly resembling oversized _Marathon-_class Cruisers were speeding towards a _Praetor _Star Defender. Plasma rained on the larger vessel's shields as it adjusted course to respond to them. The lead vessel fired several projectile rounds that covered the distance faster than a solid object should have been able to move and impacted on the now-visible barriers protecting the ship. The MAC-4 rounds struck and detonated, the nuclear warheads at their cores breaching and exploding.

Return fire quickly drove off the lead ship, but the two wings of the Delta formation were already alongside the Defender. They unleashed a torrential hail of close-range energy weapons and massive flak-like projectiles. The ship-to-ship equivalent of a shotgun ripped great holes in the Defender's hull, spilling flames and bodies into space.

It wasn't done, however. The larger ship had its own guns, which it brought to bear on the leading destroyer. It was over before the Asylum vessel could counter the attack. It slumped, slowing, and its unfortunate twin ran bow-first into its engines. The resulting explosion sent massive pieces of metal into the exposed side of the _Praetor_-class. It survived, and limped away to face the first destroyer that had escaped it.

Something peculiar happened then; a great line of white light carved through the bow of the Defender and straight down its middle, exiting out the stern and leaving the bisecting ship to tear itself apart.

An oddly-shaped ship soared past the debris and almost casually killed a small Corellian Corvette along the way. It had a central spire and three equally long but differently shaped spires protruding at even angles from the base of the central one. Beams of pure, white energy lanced out from the tips of these spires and struck surrounding vessels, neatly slicing the lesser ones and damaging the greater. The angles of these shots seemed to have no set measure; the killzone of each spire was a full sphere. The _Dawn of the Way_ was one of the seven Forerunner Dreadnoughts recovered in the millennia of humanity's history. After all this time, it still wasn't entirely understood how the systems operated. But they operated, and did so with deadly efficiency.

A trio of Star Destroyers, led by two other _Executor-_class SSD's turned their attention to the Dreadnought. Turbolasers and proton torpedoes pounded the Forerunner vessel. The assault ended, and they braced for a counterattack; but none came. Whips of electricity arced up and down the hull of the ship. Though the barrage did nothing to damage the _Dawn_ on its own as the shields took all of the damage, the concentrated fire had blown several power conduits buffering those same shields. The ancient ship could only fire from one spire, the one pointed directly away from the battle group. That group moved on to attack other targets before the Dreadnought could come about and destroy them.

**~~O~~**

The _Fist of Dorn_ had become a rally point for damaged vessels over the hours-long course of the battle. Any Sith warship that came within range was blasted apart piecemeal by the battle cruiser. Symbiotically, any enemy that made it past the flagship's screen was destroyed by the nine vessels clustered around it.

"Forty percent of our fleet has been destroyed or damaged, Admiral. The _Dawn of the Way_ is also damaged, but they estimate that repairs will be complete within an hour. Reach has not reported its status yet. Whether this means the enemy there is jamming them, or they've been destroyed completely...we have no way to tell. The reinforcements you left there have also not reported in. In summary, this battle is going fairly well." Daniels nodded at Chiron's words. Compared to some battles he'd been in, to have even survived this long was good. That they were surviving against a larger fleet, even winning, was good despite the losses.

He'd ordered a host of carriers and battleships to stay behind at Reach. Leading them was the supercarrier _Gravis Armum_, which carried a great deal of his army in its massive holds. He hoped that the army wouldn't prove necessary. Reach was certainly defended well enough. Then again, the fleet that had gone there was gigantic. Even the orbital MAC stations might not be enough to turn that battle.

His army was composed of the Asylum infantry force, the Kasrkin. Individually, they were dangerous enough, but in the legions he commanded, they were as an exploding star. Each was a veteran of at least the most recent wars, and some were even older than he was. All were completely loyal, to the point of what some would call fanaticism, but, like the fleet officers, they were not blind in their action. Daniels demanded only two things of his soldiers; that the enemy not be allowed to win, and that they not be stupid.

It was, perhaps, an advantage of the age he lived in that there were so many people. Look hard enough, and you can find millions with the same point of view. In the case of Asylum, they'd found entire systems that would devote themselves to the fight against the Terra Regime.

The high population also made it easy to replace the legions of dead.

Outside, the battle raged. The enemy, it seemed, had finally realized which was the command ship in his fleet. Sensors showed several groups of vessels bearing down on the _Fist of Dorn,_ one of which was an obviously heavily modified _Executor-_class Super Star Destroyer. The enemy's flagship, Daniels surmised, as he watched it swat aside the outer reaches of the defensive screen. He felt the impacts through his chair as the shields began to take damage. Around the _Fist_, the already-damaged vessels began to explode one by one. Chiron adjusted the heading to bring them down and left to return fire, when something heavier struck the shields, creating significant drain.

'Of course they'd have a damned superlaser,' was the AI's thought. It struck again. They weren't in a position to answer with the Eversor twins. It would have to be done the old-fashioned way. He delivered firing solutions to the gun crews and gave the Weapons Free command. Batteries along the left side of the ship tilted just slightly to target the enemy flagship. The black lit up for a moment as one fired, then again on down the line. Two sets of thirty in ten seconds. There was a notable delay before they struck their target.

Even a focused barrage like this wouldn't be enough to crack the vessel open. For that, Chiron gave a final set of coordinates to the Kaelas Missile system. As a second volley of the broadside fired, a pair of streaks followed behind it. There was the delay, and then...

Chiron cursed as the sensors sent him data on that area of space. The Sith were using their smaller vessels as shields to the _Fist of Dorn_'s assault. They were hitting the target, just not the right one.

By this time, the battleship was in position to unleash the Eversor Cannons. Chiron aligned the great guns and gave the firing codes. A weapon as powerful as the Twins would pierce the enemy's screen and still have the punch to damage the flagship.

He was informed of a proximity alert. A ship that the sensors had identified as disabled suddenly sprang to life again, too close for comfort and moving too fast to counter. It was identified as an _Imperial II_-class Star Destroyer. It was less than a tenth of the size of the _Fist of Dorn_, but it still had mass and velocity.

The shot went wide as alarms blared out across the front sections of the ship. Decompression, power surges, and a two-kilometer-long tumor sticking out of its side effectively crippled the _Nova_-class.

Its opponent fired the superlaser again.

Several things happened at once. The beam struck the shielded underside of the _Fist_, burning through and punching into the hull. A ship appeared out of the Rift and, from a distance equivalent to half a star system, fired on the _Executor-_class SSD. Chiron processed a message from Reach. Daniels received a message from their savior, which immediately played before him.

"This is the Asylum Long Range Tactical Frigate _Coreward. _ This message is for Combat Admiral First Class Daniels..."

Its flag passed, the LRTF reversed thrust and began to reenter the Rift. The Sith flagship, however, was unforgiving of the Asylum vessel's earlier insult. The cold revenge tore it to pieces.

Chiron saw his chance.

Every weapon the _Fist of Dorn _had pointed in the general direction of the enemy fired at once, filling the space between them with exhaust trails and light. All eight of the remaining Kaelas Missiles were launched. The targeted vessel _burned_ in heat rivaling stars.

The immediate threat dealt with, Chiron turned his attention to internal matters. Repairs needed to be directed, the fleet commanded, and Daniels...

Chiron appeared next to the man, who had disengaged himself from the command throne. His helmet was off, and the AI could see his face. Already pale, the normally unflinching Daniels looked especially white. He spoke two words to Chiron.

"_Terra fell._"

Four minutes later, the remaining vessels of the Asylum fleet entered the Rift, heading back to their own home. Chiron opted not to tell Daniels of the message Reach had sent.

Reach Station had failed. The enemy was grounded across all restored sectors of the planet. The stalwart defense had turned into a rout to rival that of the original Fall of Reach.

**End Part I**

**

* * *

**And that's the start of Reach. It's written mostly from Daniels' point of view because he won't be there for the rest of the Reach trilogy. Instead, at some point, we'll write about what he did during the events of these next few stories, which will provide a much better look at Asylum and that galaxy. But that's for later.

For now, know that there is more coming soon. Particularly the Halo Versus Star Wars Technical Analyses.

That's all for now,

Exterminatus Extremis and Anton Pein.


	2. Part II: The Battle of Reach

**[II]**

_**The Battle of Reach**_

_Killian's Moon, Isis_

_ONI Section VII Legion Base_

_Site 4_

It began as something innocuous.

An errant twitch, a little spark of thought, leading to a sudden understanding, a glorious revelation. The revelation became a burning chunk of metal in the mind, burning to be spoken, to get out. Neurons fired to the exigent muscle groups, patterns of electricity granting incredible dexterity to the proteins and fibers bunched together. An errant twitch, a little spark of thought, and suddenly that innocuous thing became words.

They weren't words as the observers understood. The speaker was babbling incoherently. But to the speaker, it was as clear as glass. They were just listening too _slow._ All of it, too slow to pick up the deluge of information pouring into the mortal vessel to be transmitted. The source, they couldn't comprehend. Didn't need to. As long as it worked, as long as the vessel could see the things they wanted it to and tell them what it is they needed to know. But then the opportunity came for their work to be fulfilled and they ruined it by listening _too damned slow_.

The words continued to flow, gradually slowing until a single string of sounds was muttered over and over again. The only important part of the glorious song they couldn't hear. The only part important to them, anyway. To the vessel, all of it was like the spark of life. The fools on the other side of the glass were empty, lifeless things compared to what they'd created. To behold such power, such pure and beautiful potential! It was enough to drive a man mad just by looking, but not this one. This one remained sane while the rest of the universe fell into madness and chaos. Moving so slowly, so stupidly, bumbling through their lives without a purpose. Fools, one and all. Someday they would learn what it meant to live, but by then they'd be long dead anyway.

Repeat the words, repeat the words, they'll listen correctly at some point.

The words slowed with the tempo of the song. Briefly, the two mortal shells watching from the other side of the glass started, their eyes widening, as they finally understood what the song was saying. The message repeated, full this time.

"They are coming. They are coming through the Black and the Fire and the Haven. From long ago and far away they are coming. Returning to finish what was started by those who came before. Started and ended, reversed but not completely." The speaker's destroyed eyes lifted to stare straight at the impromptu audience. "Your world will burn until its surface is glass once more. Your world will be consumed in the fires of a thousand plagues. Your world will bleed its heart out into the Void, pierced by that which kept it safe. Your world will be torn apart at its seams and swept under by the oncoming tide. Unstoppable waves upon the sandcastle wall, eventually breaking in and spreading the water. Stop the water by lighting it on fire yourself. All sand is glass in the end, by their hand or yours. Whoever has the longer arm wins the gambit. They are coming."

**~~O~~**

Admiral Sheppard contemplated the star outside the tinted window of his bridge. Somewhere, millions of kilometers behind him, spun the military stronghold of Reach. To say that the world had become fortified would be an understatement of improbable magnitude. Much as it had been in the days before the Fall, it was the military headquarters of the Milky Way forces.

The orbital defense grid was new and refurbished with the Orbital Defense Platform II platforms, which carried their own onboard reactors to increase efficiency and remove the possibility of being taken out from the ground the way the Covenant did. There were a hundred twenty ODP-IIs circling Reach, arranged in clusters of three.

That was the way of things these days. The new face of the UNSC was efficiency, efficiency, efficiency. The original ODP had numerous spacious environments, beautiful interior living spaces, and generally a large amount of open space that wasn't technically necessary. In the militarized Humanity of the new era, these were done away with, primarily to make room for more ammunition and the onboard reactors. The Magnetic Accelerator Cannon itself had been upgraded. Now the Mark VI, it sported more powerful capacitors for the electromagnetic coils.

"Admiral," one of the bridge crew said. The quiet mumbling from the conversations of the other crew on the bridge ceased, as all eyes turned towards the communications station. The man there looked panicked. "We're getting two messages, sir. One from an unidentifiable ONI source, and another from Admiral Daniels. Both are saying the same thing."

Scant minutes later, the ant nest that was the Epsilon Eridani system began to swarm.

"This is Reach Station to all fleets," came the communique. "We've received word from the defensive fleet at the Rift that a large contingent of enemy ships has broken through the blockade and is on a direct heading to Reach. ETA gives us two hours to prepare. All nonessential or noncombatant vessels should begin evacuations immediately. Prioritize civilian sectors, then primary military assets..." Sheppard stopped listening as the voice of Admiral Huntz continued giving orders. Tactical data and fleet vectors had been transmitted as well. It was time to go to work.

**~~O~~**

The enemy arrived to find the UNSC's meat grinder waiting. The first few ships were pierced through by forward positions and a system of MAC stations that were independent of the Reach orbitals. For three minutes the outermost defenses held. Then the trickling of vessels stopped, and the main fleet arrived.

At first, Reach Station didn't know what had happened. One second they were receiving telemetry from the stations, and then the telemetry stopped. Thirty seconds later, the reason became clear. As the long range sensors picked up movement and began to calculate the scale of the enemy, the first of their weapons brought down several ships in the outer fleets.

The sensor systems screamed their answer to the satellite communications. Six hundred warships poured into the system and unleashed their fury upon the defenders.

Admiral Sheppard's fleet was positioned in the outer line of defense. As such, it took the brunt of the opening volley. The enemy's weapons were powerful, to say the least. A few rounds of Turbolaser fire was enough to destroy most smaller vessels. Capital ships were equipped with shields by now, which allowed them to last slightly longer. The one advantage the Navy had was that MAC rounds passed through the enemy's shields more often than not. No one knew why this happened, not even Daniels, but the UNSC didn't particularly care. It was an edge and they needed that.

Another fleet arrived shortly after the enemy's, also from the direction of the Rift. It didn't transmit any IFF code or communication, nor did it drop from Slipspace or Hyperspace. The thirty-odd vessels simply appeared and joined the fighting. The UNSC didn't attack them, however. During one of the several briefings he'd been asked to give, Daniels mentioned a breakaway faction of Asylum called the Absolutes. Beyond that, he didn't say what they were or why they'd seceded, only that Humanity should let his forces deal with them. There would once again be no complaining, as the Absolutist fleet attacked the Coalition.

The enemy fleet split further into four recognizable parts. One stayed to deal with the outer defenses, while the other three shot past them to the inner system and Reach itself. Two then broke into a staggered line while the third, containing carriers and their escorts, remained behind them. The distance closed, and the opposing lines opened up.

From the range at which they fired, neither side could actually see their targets all that well in the black of space. When flames began to blossom, it was as though they exploded of their own accord. The defenses held well for several minutes, until the second contingent of the enemy joined the first. The hail of weaponry thickened. The ranges continued to close, until the ships were firing broadsides into each other. With the larger part of the defensive fleets engaged, the third section of the enemy fleet moved in for the planet. They met a wall of projectiles. The Orbital Defense Grid loosed its first salvo as the enemy drew within their range. The effect of the great guns was devastating.

Reach Station was the focus of the defense. Its position above the north pole of the planet Reach gave it an excellent killzone around the northern hemisphere. To the south, the ODP's were more thickly clustered. Between them, the enemy hadn't been able to get anywhere near the surface. Thanks to the defensive screens from the several fleets in the system, most of the enemy's fire had been drawn away from the platforms. To no end, Reach Station was an annoyance to the forces assigned to take the planet.

So it was that it became the target of the Coalition's newest gambit.

Long range weaponry was a staple of any ship-to-ship combat, but being able to hit the enemy from further away than they can hit you was still an advantage. Despite the relative ease with which a MAC was able to destroy most vessels, the Coalition had a net gain in ranged superiority. Which was why, when several large beams of light pounded the shields of Reach Station from outside the main area of combat, there was nothing to answer it.

**~~O~~**

"We're receiving new target objectives, sir. Reach Station has requested we engage a hostile entity that's bombarding it from extreme range."

"Move to intercept," said Sheppard. "Once we're in range, deploy all Longsword flights. Have the _Atlas, Siren, _and _Verstärkung _follow us in to make sure the target dies." Sheppard normally wouldn't have sent his flagship, the _Argonaut_, straight into an unknown enemy formation without further data. However, keeping Reach Station online was vital to the Orbital Defense Grid, and his battlegroup was the closest to the threat.

"Reach Station, this is _Argonaut _actual. Two minutes to target intercept. We've got your back." At their brief thanks, he closed the link and turned to the management of his own fleet. The holographic tactical map in front of his command chair was a square meter 3-D representation of the battlefield. Red dots, varying in size based on threat assessment, were the enemy. His fleet was shown in green, and the Alliance's fleet as a whole was shown in yellow. There were several grey dots as well, which were the Absolutes. To the casual observer, the display would look like a swarm of glowing, multicolored angry bees. The military mind would quickly recognize the patterns, however. Here, a small UNSC battlgroup was destroyed by the larger enemy force. There, an ODP's targeting data (which was shown with dotted white lines) intercepted a red dot, which quickly winked out. The objective marker which showed the location of the ship attacking Reach Station was denoted at the edge of the visible area, as the tactical sensors wouldn't penetrate that far.

It was eerily reminiscent of the Fall of Reach. A Covenant Supercruiser had destroyed several vessels from beyond the range of any defenses. And then the legendary Captain Keys used its own shields to amplify a nuclear blast and blow it to Hell.

Several minutes later, they came within sensor range of the enemy. The first thing Sheppard noticed on the sensors was how big the ship was. It was much, much larger than even the _Fist of Dorn._ Bigger even than than the Covenant Supercarrier. The best estimates the sensors could give at that range and angle were forty kilometers.

It was almost fifteen times the size of his _Marathon-_class. The resident AI of the _Argonaut_, Tesla, ran calculations on how much damage they could feasibly do to it.

"Using conjectured shield strength based on already-known values from the other enemy vessels, as well as hull strength and thickness from the same source, my best estimates give us a twenty percent chance."

"Of what?" Sheppard said. He was beginning to get a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Scratching their hull and surviving."

"That's not good."

"The NOVA bomb in Storage 7 would do significantly more damage than any of our conventional weapons. However, we still have to drop at least a section of their shields...hold on." There was a pause. The sensors on a screen in front of Sheppard showed a sudden spike in energy output as the vessel fired again on Reach Station.

"They drop their shields to fire that weapon. If the Longswords and Sabers can distract them long enough, we might be able to slip the bomb through their defensive screen the next time they fire." The bridge shook slightly as something passed close to the _Argonaut_.

"Oh, good, they've seen us. Put the plan into motion," Sheppard said. "Get us close, and have the other two vessels engage as well. We'll see if we can help to keep it busy."

**~~O~~**

While Sheppard's battlegroup engaged Darth Xizov's flagship, Reach Station began to suffer under its constant punishment.

Admiral Huntz, commanding the defense from the bridge of the station, listened calmly as the crew rattled off percentages and damage tallies. Shields at twenty percent power, MAC 3 out of alignment, retargeting, fire. On it went. They were a good crew. Efficient, smart, and creative. The station's AI did little more than point and shoot when told to.

Huntz knew that the enemy could have destroyed the station a long time ago if they'd wanted to. They definitely had the range. Either they didn't want to destroy it completely for some reason, or they wanted to board it and take it over. He smirked slightly at that thought.

The interior defense systems and full complement of Marines onboard would stem whatever tide came their way. If, that was, the attackers managed to get past the close defense systems strewn across the station.

"Shields at ten percent..."

The station rocked briefly as the MACs fired in sequence. On the large tactical display encompassing the center of the bridge cavern, three dots winked out. Another rumble, one of the energy projectors firing. Another dot. The station was nothing if not efficient. Six out of every ten shots was a hit, and two of every of those was a confirmed kill.

"Shields are down!"

That was probably why the enemy didn't like this station in particular.

"Sir, we're tracking multiple vessels heading our way. Detecting projectile launches, as well as guided craft. You were right."

"All hands, stand by to repel boarders! Bring the interior defenses online. Prioritize defense of the fire control centers and power plants. Do not allow the armaments to fall into enemy ha-" He was cut off as the station shook violently. "What the hell was that?"

"The contact Admiral Sheppard went to dispatch just hit us with something big, sir. There's massive damage across all sections of G deck. We've lost fire control to the A deck energy projector. Power surges have thrown the magnetic containment of the C deck projector out of alignment."

"How soon until we're boarded?"

"Twelve minutes before the first wave of projectiles hits, sir. Orders?"

"Still stand. Bring all defensive systems online and prepare to repel boarders." Huntz quietly made sure that the SMG beneath his chair was loaded and oiled. He noted the other bridge crew doing the same. Several had combat shotguns.

"Ten minutes, sir. The Marines have started to set up in key passages across the station. Evacuation of nonessential personnel has begun. They should be off the station in...twenty minutes." By evacuation standards, that was fairly good. The Marines would only have to hold the bays for a short time until everyone escaped, and then they could shore up the other defensive sectors. He wasn't worried about the enemy boarders so much as what they could do in the short time they would be onboard.

Reach Station had never been completed. Not once had the hull been a unified whole. The interior systems were much the same. It had essentially been built around the four MAC cannons, which were already operational. The next systems were the energy projectors and the close-defense lasers. Automated interior defenses and basic safety systems were next. Then the reactors that powered it all brought everything online, and only then did they begin building the hull. Here, a wall was missing. There, exposed wiring that some techie was working on.

Such a weak structure was obviously vulnerable to anyone with a few explosive charges and a monkey's skill in structural analysis.

**~~O~~**

At this point, there was little they could do but wait. Whatever craft got past the defensive screen would still have to take a small amount of time to latch on to the station, and then make their way into one of the defense posts.

This particular juncture was held by a group of Marines and some civilians that had been too stubborn to leave. It was wide enough for a couple of cars to pass through at once. They arranged themselves into two lines. The first line had blocked the entire passage with barricades and the forklift that had been used to carry them. They had turrets set up behind a few of them, and the ten Marines were equipped with MAR-20s and an assortment of close combat weaponry.

The second line got a bit more creative. The passage was on an incline, and the second line was at the top behind the first. This allowed them a good view and angle of the four-way intersection a dozen meters ahead of the front line. These five Marines had grenade launchers and another trio of machine gun turrets, as well as the hardmounted chaingun turret in the ceiling behind them. It was fully automated, too, so the Marines were able to focus on their task.

It started with a deep noise that resonated through the station. The blast door, closed in the junction ahead of them, began to glow and heat up. A loud banging noise started to be heard, and the doors began to bend inward. The banging stopped. A muffled shout, followed by a whining noise.

Then, the doors exploded inward, bouncing off the Marines' barricades. The Marines opened fire first. The sharp report of the MAR-20 sounded, followed by several lobbed grenades. The enemy also began to fire, and angry red bolts of energy lit up the smoky corridor.

The UNSC had never faced any part of the Coalition in ground combat before. However, anyone who would be engaging in an infantry action against the enemy had been briefed on what they could expect. The enemy boiled down to four things: there would be lots of them, they would probably be human, they would shoot frickin' laser beams, and some of them might be able to crush your heart from thirty meters. That second part was currently the Marines' favorite. If it was human, it could die very easily.

A roar erupted behind them as the two chainguns in the ceiling hosed death upon the enemy. A constant stream of glowing white metal poured into the smoky passageway. Screams sounded from the obscurement. Abruptly the turret stopped tracking movement in the targeted area and shut off. Likewise, the soldiers behind the barriers ceased fire, some reloading while they waited for further movement. The smoke cleared as air scrubbers kicked in.

The first thing they saw through the rapidly-clearing smoke was the floor littered with white-armored bodies. The next thing was the gaggle of survivors that dove behind some sort of cover before the chaingun engaged. Third was the single large, black-armored figure that stood, unwavering, in the center of the killzone holding a large, multibarrelled cannon.

Raising the gun with an audible whir of machinery, the Dark Trooper opened fire.

Reports began to flood into the command center of powerful enemy troopers that were tearing through the hardpoints. Admiral Huntz listened to two different Marine groups gunned down while screaming into the radio for help before he made his decision.

"This is Admiral Huntz to all combatant personnel. The use of heavy weapons onboard the station is now authorized. Destroy the enemy with whatever you can. Armory, begin distribution of anti-materiel weapons. Sergeant Griffon, give me a sitrep."

"All major junctions are still unengaged, sir. Several minor junctions have been overrun. The docking areas are as-of-yet clear. The enemy seems to be driving towards the center of the station. The reactors and us, sir. It looks like they either want to scuttle us or take control. Either way, they're going to be at our doorstep pretty soon."

**End Part II**

* * *

There! After a simply absurd amount of time, the second chapter of the first story in the Reach trilogy is done. I'm afraid there's simply no excuse for my tardiness. Know that I have not been idle. Part III is almost completely done, and should be up before St. Valentine's Day. Also in the works is the story of what Daniels will be doing during his absence from the main plot.

A few things that some might find to be inconsistent here: Dark Troopers? I thought they were destroyed? Answer: Not completely, though the program was discontinued. In HvSW canon, the Dark Trooper project was reinitiated several years after the Sith-Imperial War, destroyed again, and then rebuilt for a third and finally successful time after the Purge of Korriban (also in HvSW canon.)

Where does the UNSC get the money and resources to rebuild all of this so soon after the Human-Covenant war? Answer: Well, I believe this was answered in one of the previous stories. If not, here's the basic premise. Shortly after the H-C War, the Elites offered Humanity their aid. This aid included some (not all) technologies. Also included in the treaty were the locations of several Forerunner artifacts called Forge Worlds (no, the name wasn't from the map) which, by processes unknown to both races, produce and manipulate elements to create raw materials needed for construction. Perhaps they were the lost Star Forges, who knows? The point being, it provides an unlimited supply of whatever resources Humanity and the Elites might need. The installations' automated construction systems were also able to be reconfigured by the Monitors that controlled them to create frameworks for ships of any type. After that, all that's left is to put the systems into place, which is still done by "hand."

What exactly is the Rift? Answer: I can't tell you that yet.

Isn't it irresponsible for Daniels to leave his post at the Rift? Answer: If your house was being robbed and you knew it, wouldn't you come home from the office to protect it?

As per usual, any constructive criticism is more than welcome. Rate and Review! Tell us what you think! Send us a postcard!

Actually, don't. Not that last bit.

Anton and Exterminatus Extremis.


	3. Part III: Grounded

**[III]**

_**Grounded**_

To say that the first engagement on the ground with the UNSC was a disaster would be an understatement. Reach was a military stronghold, once. After its Titanic incident during the Covenant War, humanity had made sure it wouldn't sink again.

Within an hour of landfall, they'd dug in at almost every major restoration zone. Waiting for them was the Reach Army Division, fortified and reinforced by a regiment of Marines and their air force. Bunker after bunker blocked their path, and the cities were death traps. The most startling thing to the attackers was the determination and power of the comparatively primitive military of humanity.

It wouldn't last, however. Technological superiority and sheer force of numbers began to drive the defenders back.

"You have to keep them from destroying that relay. If that goes down, we all die. I don't care if you have to shield it with your own corpses—just keep the enemy from taking the HAS offline. It's only until reinforcements arrive."

"With respect, Ma'am, we don't have the firepower to hold for any amount of time against an onslaught like that. The enemy has two capital ships parked right on our front porch. If it weren't for the orbital shield, they'd just blow us to smithereens that way. As it is, the amount of troops they're sending our way is staggering. We have only one thing going our way, and that's high ground. Once they get air support, even that much is useless. We need whatever your facility can give us." He stood in front of a communication hardline point a few kilometers from the ONI Scythe base. Behind him, reflected in the screen, he could see the spire rising into the air that projected the energy field keeping them all alive. It was a huge target. A few airstrikes would be enough to destroy it. Even just a strategically-placed charge at one of the legs would bring it down.

"There's almost nothing we can give you that you don't have already. I'm sorry, but..." She trailed off and spoke to something he couldn't see. A large, gauntlet-clad hand gesticulated just within his vision, arguing with the director of Scythe base. Eventually, the hand won out, and the scientist reluctantly nodded. She returned to the monitor. "Alright, we're sending them out. Prepare to be relieved of command, Sergeant."

"How long?"

"Half an hour, maybe longer. Can you last that long?" He nodded.

"Whatever you're sending us had better be good."

"They are," she responded confidently. "The best." She switched off the monitor and turned to the armored figure towering over her. "Second Platoon was already sent down to Orsa to defend the starport there. Assemble the First and get upstairs to reinforce that position."

"Do you think we can help them all that much?"

"Honestly? No. But the AEGIS should buy us some time." She crossed the room to another station, picked up a cold cup of coffee, and sat in the chair that followed her around the floor. There was a slight whirring as the other occupant of the chamber opened the door.

"Time for what?" Reinforcements were nil. The entirety of their ground forces were engaged already, all across the planet. The scientist stopped typing and sighed, putting a palm to her temple.

"Time for God to hand us another miracle."

**~~O~~**

"Incoming!" Came the cry. Everyone in the area ducked behind whatever cover they were close to and covered their ears if they could. The world went silent for a moment before a volley of grenades flew into the position. Boom. Then, there was more silence. The dust began to settle, showing that out of the squad only seven of them remained. Six smoking holes and a smear of blood on one of the barricades showed the fates of the others.

Orson took a quick look over his cover, sighted, and fired. It took a few shots, but he eventually downed one of the armored soldiers. He had to dive down immediately as lasers peppered the area around him. The man beside him wasn't so lucky, and his skull popped like a balloon. Orson was showered with pieces of bone and flesh.

Half an hour, that damned woman had told him. Maybe longer. It had been an hour and forty minutes, and in that time the Marines had beaten back three assaults by the enemy. He'd fallen back twice, survived no less than ten explosions, and one of his ears was bleeding from a concussion grenade bursting his eardrum. The pain was excruciating, but the freshly-dead medic had helped that some.

He sent his last grenade sailing down the incline and was rewarded by a thump and some screaming. He could see in the distance that the second holdout was doing better. The third had been annihilated by a trio of hovering tanks, which were then destroyed by a Scarab. That hadn't lasted too long either, but its burning hulk now blocked the path the third position was holding. A quick glance showed several more tanks at the bottom of the incline beginning to move up.

Relay 17 had been constructed a few kilometers from the new ONI Scythe weapons testing facility in a desert in the northeastern hemisphere of Reach. It was part of a network of emitters that projected a High Altitude Shield over the rejuvenated areas of the blasted surface. Primarily, the shield served as a protective boundary, keeping the toxins of the rest of the planet out and the terraforming processes in. It also made an excellent bombardment shield.

The Relay did have its own defensive systems, but even that wouldn't do very much if an enemy managed to get inside it and destroy it from within. Thus, it was placed upon a high plateau overlooking what used to be an ocean. Three main pathways through the rock lead up into the clearing the tower was in. Several bunkers, firing posts, hard fallback points, and strategically-placed charges to collapse the walls made the position a difficult one to assault.

Unless the enemy was throwing itself at you.

"I'm out!" Someone yelled. An agreement came from two others. Ammo was gone already. The enemy would realize that the suppressing fire was slackening, and then a fourth charge would sweep the position...

"Prepare to blow the charges on my mark!" He said.

"Watson had the detonator, sir. He was vaporized by a grenade." Orson cursed and fired some more. There was a bunker on an outcrop not far behind them, but it was a hundred meters of open ground. Without better covering fire, they couldn't risk it, but staying would all but guarantee their death.

His indecision was cut short by yet another alarmed yell: "Tank!" He had time to look over the barricade before he was thrown backwards into the dirt. He felt a deep cold sensation in his stomach, and then searing pain, then nothing.

He awoke, he didn't know how much later, to find a jagged piece of his barricade pinning him to the ground through his abdomen. It had obviously destroyed his spine, as he couldn't feel anything below his shoulders. There was no sound. His head rolled back as blood spurted around the metal shard, and he saw a white light...

Wait. That was the sun reflecting off of something.

It was a bluish shade of grey. Eight feet tall, bulky, and humanoid. It strode through the hail of laserfire, unconcerned as the bolts bounced off its shields. One arm raised, and from its wrist poured a single large beam, which it swept across the hill. Its graceful path took its gleaming form straight past him, and he saw the word AEGIS stamped on its chest.

"Spartans of the First Platoon! Charge!" A woman's voice issued from external speakers. Orson saw more of the armored soldiers walking out of the obscuring smoke and dust. As one, they walked down the hill, blasting apart the tanks and the enemy's own hastily-erected defenses. Overwhelmed by fatigue, relief, and awe, he let his head fall to the dirt once more.

Lieutenant Colonel Arael Fortna felt a slight rush as she raised her gauntlet-clad hand and incinerated her enemies. The other hand held a magazine-fed grenade launcher that made short work of the few tanks the enemy had brought. The Spartan IV's under her command were encased in the same powerful armor. While it lacked the mobility of the MJOLNIR suits they previously wore, it more than made up for it in raw power.

"Burn!" She growled as she arrived at the bottom of the hill. The troop carriers attempting to turn around and flee became so much slag before her.

Designation: AEGIS. The mythical armor of Zeus. The work of the Forerunner, redesigned for modern humans. Section III's favorite project on Reach. They'd never been field or even combat tested, but they performed beyond expectations.

As the last of the enemy died, she turned to look back up the hill to the Relay. It was a ruin. Here, a downed Scarab. There, a bunker torn open by some explosive. Bodies of the fallen littered the entire rise. That the enemy's dead outnumbered their own was little comfort.

The sudden silence after battle was perhaps the most unsettling thing she ever experienced. For some, it was peaceful, a welcome break from the tumult. To her, it only punctuated the death of those who fought. It seemed like such a waste, really. What the Army had pushed back for hours, her Spartans destroyed in minutes. The Relay had held, however. That was the important part.

"We've got a live one!" Fortna spun to the voice. A Spartan stood over a crumpled, bleeding Marine Sergeant. His injuries were severe. A large piece of whatever he'd been hiding behind had bisected his abdomen, removing entirely everything below his stomach.

She sighed. This part, she especially hated.

"His wounds are too severe. Make it quick." She walked away and tried not to listen as the Spartan's wrist-mounted laser gave the Sergeant his last rites. Across the hill, the same act was repeated. A few survivors were found on the front line, and several dozen were still in the main bunker beneath the Relay.

"Anthony, report!" She called to her second. He turned from the barricade he was reinstalling with the suit's immense strength and walked with her.

"Four front-line survivors, forty reserve troops remaining in the Relay. Kent is bringing them up, along with whatever ordnance they have. Lookouts are saying that there's a large convoy approaching from the bottom of the mountain. Looks like mostly tanks and transports, plus a very large walker, maybe size-and-a-half of a Scarab. Six legs, no obvious weak spots yet. Oh, good. I just got word that the Relay bunker has enough munitions to last for a long time, plus some other goodies." He smiled a little behind the visor. "We've got artillery."

"Thank you. What did Scythe Base say about further reinforcements?"

"Unfortunately, negative. We're all they had left, and every one of us is here."

"Understood. We'll have to make do, I suppose. When will the enemy arrive?" She stopped at the door to the main bunker beneath the Relay. It was open and soldiers were hauling out all sorts of weapons. Every so often she caught one glancing their way, as though not believing their luck at being saved by, and soon fighting alongside, the famed supersoldiers.

"Thirty minutes for the frontrunners, give or take a few. The walker will be within our range in just under forty, but there's no way to tell from how far out it can hit us."

"Prep a strike team, have them take the active camouflage attachments and see if they can take it out once the fighting starts. I want Landsmen on that team, she knows her way around an infiltration op. Tell them not to get themselves killed." She moved on to start giving orders to someone else, and Anthony took that as dismissal. That was her way of working; since Spartans were outside the usual chain of command, protocol was fairly lax with them. There was also that she had to plan the defense of a single position for an indefinite amount of time against possibly limitless opposition.

He turned back to the infantrymen hauling things out of the bunkers. One of the heavier artillery pieces had fallen off its cart and the regular soldiers were nowhere near strong enough to pick it up. Anthony walked over and lifted it, one-handed, back onto the cart. The three Marines stared at him, briefly, in awe, perhaps even a little fear, before moving back to the cart. Wait, what was that?

"Problem, soldier?" One of them had very obviously been glaring under the brim of his helmet, not even looking up when Anthony had lifted the large gun.

"Permission to speak freely, sir?" Anthony nodded. "We're grateful for the help, sir, and that you saved our skinny little asses. But it seems like salt on the wound, you know? We mere mortals defended this position for four hours of combat, bled and died here, and you're sent in late to what, mop up? With respect to the good doctor, where the Hell were you?"

"That's...classified. We weren't wasting our time, I assure you. We..." Anthony tried to find words that wouldn't breach security. They actually had a logistics issue. Second Platoon had been sent to Orsa, on the other side of the planet, to keep the major starport out of enemy hands. Tactically necessary, as that was a major evacuation center and one of two starports left on the planet. However, it left Scythe Base with only a few dropships, not enough to carry all of the Spartans. Particularly not with the AEGIS armor, which took up a lot of space. They could have walked, but that would have taken even longer. "We didn't have the transportation to get here fast enough." He winced. That probably wasn't a good excuse.

"And why's that?"

"That's the classified part." They weren't supposed to tell the general soldiers how badly the fight was going elsewhere. Deploying an entire platoon of Spartans to two single locations was a telling thing. As it was, Third Platoon was scattered all over the planet, helping out in various, less vital actions. The soldier huffed.

"Bullshit. Sir. If you'll excuse me, we have work to do." The riflemen, all but the one frowning slightly at his words, continued moving the equipment. Anthony sighed and kept walking, looking for someone else he could help.

It wasn't really that the riflemen didn't like the Spartans. They all knew that the common opinion of the supersoldiers was a negative one. Simply, the Spartans had continuously one-upped the general infantrymen since the program was started before the Covenant War. The ODSTs especially held a deep resentment once it was revealed that Spartans were much more effective shock troops than the normal, if slightly reckless, Helljumpers.

Particularly, the Master Chief. No one from Anthony's generation of Spartans had ever seen the legendary soldier. But if it weren't for the fact that he had single-handedly saved the human race, he would probably be the single most resented person in the military.

"Anthony!" came Fortna's voice in his ear. "I've got a plan."

**~~O~~**

Thirty minutes later, the first lines of the enemy appeared on the hill. The infantry walked behind several transports, attempting to avoid the heavy fire that would inevitably rain down upon them. Except that there was nothing. No explosions, no weapon's fire. A few scouts were sent ahead, reluctantly, to see what was going on. They gave the all-clear signal.

As the first section of the convoy advanced up the hill, the first thing they noticed were the bodies strewn about like leaves. There were definitely more than the first convoy had reported. Even among the bodies were the large, armored enemies that had been in the final transmissions before the transports were destroyed. And here they lay, dead? The transport commanders called a halt while detailed scans were run.

Big mistake.

The first signs of trouble anyone received was a slight bit of movement, a clattering of a thrown antitank mine, and then one of the transports exploded in the middle of the formation. Chaos reigned after that as the dead bodies across the hill became very, very much alive. The silent emplacements and large weapons opened fire. The line of the enemy was destroyed before they knew what was happening.

The second wave of the convoy had by this time made it to the base of the hill, and seen what was waiting. Wisely, they moved the tanks to the front. Explosions blossomed up and down the hill from both sides of the engagement, and the battle was joined.

On the other side of the natural cliff walls, a group of six Spartans moved quietly through the rocky terrain. All were equipped with stealth generators provided by the Elites and modified for their armor by Section III. Provided, of course, was just another way of saying "stolen from dead bodies." It mattered little to the soldiers that currently relied upon them to not be seen by the enemy.

Ahead of them, they could see the the large walker. Their commander hadn't been kidding when she said it was the biggest tank she'd ever seen. Already, it began to open fire upon the hill, dorsal artillery batteries lobbing explosives over the mountainous barriers. Around it swarmed the enemy of varying types and, if their forward lookouts weren't mistaken, species as well. It was certainly going to be tough to get near the target, let alone blow it up and get back out. But that's what Spartans were for.

Landsmen signaled them to move out. Activating their camouflage units, they drew closer to the mass of enemies.

"064, this is Fortna. That tango is causing massive damage. Move up the timetable, if you please."

"Understood. Out." She opened a link to her squad. "We need to pick up the pace. Any ideas for a diversion?" One of them held up a device with a pair of joysticks and a lot of buttons. "R/C holograms it is. Greg and Tanya, make some noise. The rest of you with me." The two designated Spartans moved away to another outcropping as the rest continued advancing. It took three minutes for the first signs of agitation in the enemy to become apparent. When several explosions rocked the tank in front of the walker, it was like setting an ant hive on fire. The walker itself stopped and the turrets swiveled, searching for the source of the offense.

The pair of armored figures walking calmly out of the smoke provided a convenient target. As most of the forward escorts shot towards the holograms, which dodged faster than the actual AEGIS suits could even move, Landsmen and her team got closer. The camo units served them well; in the confusion caused by the attack on the front of the column, only a few of the infantry noticed the slight shimmer in the air left by the stealth field. With the strength of their new armor, the enemies' necks snapped like twigs.

Few, that is, until Landsmen's unit malfunctioned. The AEGIS had never been field tested, and they had no way of knowing how long the armor could support an attachment's power needs. The answer, it turned out, was around five minutes. The others' stealth fields fell before any of them could react.

Needless to say, the sudden appearance of the four Spartans within the enemy's lines caused more confusion than the explosions at the head of the column.

"Flashbangs!" Landsmen barked, opaquing her visor. A dozen thumps went off outside her armor, and then a lot of shooting. She brought her visual/audio systems back online. It was a complete mess. Those closest to the Spartans were in disarray, but anyone not in the range of the grenades had been instantly notified of their presence.

"Spartans! Focus on the primary target. All else is secondary." Suiting word to action, the infiltration team turned to the walker to continue the assault.

And found its guns pointed squarely at them.

Scant minutes later, the walker arrived at the bottom of the hill. Rockets and other explosives bounced off its armor as lasers and artillery sought a weak spot where there were none. Fortna watched as it pounded the forward positions to smithereens, her Spartans dying in an instant. Nothing they threw at it could stop its inexorable march. The dorsal-mounted turrets brought death from above to the soldiers station around the bunkers. Around its legs, infantry and tanks surged forward like a tide. Fortna was about to order a retreat when her radio sparked to life and a familiar voice issued from it.

"This is Spartan 176. Kindly cease fire on the walker unless you want to blow 085 and I to Hell." She magnified her visor on the walker. A pair of nav points appeared behind one of the artillery turrets.

"Copy, 176. Good to hear from you. What can you do against that thing?"

"Solution's been worked out. Hang tight." Greg glanced at the plating he and Tanya were standing on. The walker's guns couldn't hit them where they were, if the enemy even knew they were up there. They were almost completely safe while they worked out how to crack its shell. And they had.

Greg maneuvered to one side of a turret bigger than he was as Tanya went to the other. At a nod, they both produced small plasma blades and cut around the base where the gun met the hull of the walker. After a few seconds of slicing, they backed up a foot and pounded the gap they'd created with laser fire. Shots began to fly up around them from below as the foot soldiers noticed the Spartans.

With a shove, they sent the turret flying over the edge to smash into the ground, crushing a few of the enemy.

"This is 176, we have gained entry. Proceeding to the objective."

**~~O~~**

A few minutes later, the walker began to shift and walk lopsidedly as one of the hip joints exploded from the inside. Another on that side was also destroyed, causing the entire walker to list to the left. Those unfortunate souls who were marching beneath it were crushed in its uncontrolled path, others watching wide-eyed as it impacted with the cliff wall and fell, sliding a short distance down the incline before coming to a halt.

"Focus on the field! The enemy is still shooting at us!" Fortna yelled to those around her who had begun cheering at the fall of the behemoth. They couldn't afford to let up now, not when the enemy's main advantage had just been dealt with. They still had armor and there were still a lot more of them than there were of the defenders.

"176 here. Tell everyone to get their heads down." Fortna broadcast a general "find cover" order. Moments later, the walker exploded, sending up a plume of smoke and ash and shooting fragments of burning metal across the hill. The enemy's line was cut in half, or so they'd thought. As the smoke cleared, the enemy's latest advantage became apparent. A line of dark and light-robed figures stood, arms outspread, holding back the debris that would have destroyed the advancing tanks. Abruptly, those fragments shot forward again, up the hill towards the bunkers.

"Everyone, down!" came a yell. Impacts and explosions rippled up the hill as the enemy armor added its guns to the onslaught. Fortna watched one of her Spartans fall, a large piece of metal splitting his torso from the head down. Another died as one of the heavy emplacements exploded around him. She could see the enemy advancing, still pouring fire onto her defenders' positions. Something landed near her.

It was Greg's armored body.

Fortna looked out over her cover to see the dark-robed Force users tossing their dead up the hill. A barbaric demoralization tactic, but it was working. As dead humans occasionally fell onto her soldiers, she could see their resolve breaking.

It got even worse as the second of the two artillery emplacements was destroyed. The enemy had them on their back leg, and they were running out of assets. The Coalition seemed to have limitless soldiers. They would have to fall back to the Relay or be picked off one by one.

"This is Colonel Fortna to all units. This position is overrun. We'll retreat to the Relay. Fall back on my..." her voice trailed off as she watched the sky fade from the orbital shield's faint purple to a sunny, grey-tinged blue. The shield was down. She radioed the Relay bunker.

"Colonel Fortna here. Why has the shield been dropped? Are you trying to get us all killed?" There was some scrabbling, and a technician at the other end of the line answered her.

"We've received a high-priority shutdown command. Reinforcements are en route from orbit." She shouted back at him.

"What reinforcements? My unit was the last of the reserve. Everyone else is engaged!" Her only reply was the overwhelming hum of titanic engines. Kilometers above their position, she could see the enemy carrier moving to take advantage of the dropped shields. It would be but moments before it was in the perfect position to pound them into dust.

Colonel Fortna could do nothing but watch as the carrier leveled its guns at the position her soldiers had died defending. No UNSC vessel would make it there in time to stop it from destroying the Relay and opening up a monstrous hole in the planetary shields. The enemy had halted by this time. They didn't have to continue the press up the mountain; the defenders had already lost. Someone was screaming into the radio to raise the shield. Fortna closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable searing heat.

**End Part III**

* * *

Well, yeah, it's been over a month longer than I'd promised. I'm afraid that's entirely my fault; this is a hobby, and something I do in my spare time when the muse strikes. Deadlines should have no place in a hobby.

Someone once posed the question, "Sith and Jedi? Working together? What?" My response: So? It wouldn't be the first time enemies have joined to fight for a greater cause.

In response to all of these questions about continuity with the parent genres of this work, I say this. Something people need to take into consideration these days is that a work of fiction doesn't need to answer every question. Certain things don't require explanation. Not everything is going to make sense. You read a story for the _story, _not to find out whether or not it's thorough. Herbert didn't explain everything in Dune. Star Wars has voluminous amounts of incongruities. Tolkien didn't tell all either. Willing Suspension of Disbelief is called "Willing" for a reason.

Sometimes, to put it succinctly, it's just better to enjoy a story and blame the rest on the wizards.

-Exterminatus Extremis and Anton Pein


	4. Part IV: Wage

_**[IV]**_

_**Wage**_

The sky was rent open. A Slipspace portal appeared above the impending doom of the carrier. Forth from it came a vessel more than three times the size of the ship it summarily dropped from the air. Powerful forward guns lashed out at its engines and seared its hull. It died before it knew what hit it.

It swept over the battlefield, casting a great shadow across the mountain. There, it stopped, holding a kilometer off the ground. Moments later the shock of displaced air hit them. Soldiers from both sides were knocked over by the sudden burst. Then, everything hung still.

There was a loud crunching noise as something hit the ground between the humans and the retreating enemy. It was about eight feet tall and three wide, and shaped vaguely like on oversized HEV pod. Neither side knew what the dark blue object was. Two more appeared on either side of it. All five burst open at the same time, revealing what was within each.

They wore humanoid combat suits the same color of the pods. Held in a ready position in front of their single-eyed helmets were long, thin, boxy rifles. These they leveled at the Coalition's lines and stood, waiting. There came a rushing of wind as something very large came down to hover over the five. It was a large, rectangular ship the size of a Scarab's body, and it seemed to be covered with weapons. The forward-most turret, a pair of large, circular cannons, pointed in the direction of the enemy's forward line.

The standoff abruptly ended when one of the dark-clad Force users, a Sith acolyte leaped forward at the new arrivals. His first jump sent him the twenty meters to the drop pods. He managed to deflect one shot from the new soldiers before a large portion of his chest was vaporized. The turret on the dropship whined as it spun to life and hosed bolts of plasma into the front of the Coalition. With practiced ease, the five infantrymen crouched to a knee and placed single shots, each one a kill. Bright blue beams of energy flew down the hill.

Colonel Fortna stared, open-mouthed. More pods began to rain from the carrier above them as dropships paraded across the sky. Her soldiers stood where they were, unsure of what to do. Their enemy was getting cut to pieces in front of them.

Two very large battlesuits arrived in one of the dropships. They walked down the hill burning as they went in much the same way as the Spartans had not two hours before. Thick streams of plasma and the occasional missile poured from the weapons strewn across their armor. The enemy had begun to retreat, but the strange soldiers were too thorough.

One of them turned to regard the gawking humans. It raised its free hand and spoke.

"Who's in command here?" The voice was deep and metallic, distorted by the external communication system in his helmet. Fortna rose from her crouched position.

"I am. Colonel Arael Fortna, Spartan First Platoon under Doctor Bruger."

"Colonel Dalton, Eighth Expeditionary Force Kasrkin Regiment under Admiral Daniels. I see we arrived just in time."

"Yes, you did. Thanks for the save. How did you know we needed the help?"

"We didn't. That carrier dropping troops tipped us off. Standing orders are to assist in repelling any ground forces that manage to gain a foothold on Reach. We're landing across all restoration zones, particularly those that have already fallen to the enemy." This bit of news surprised Fortna and the nearby onlookers.

"What? What did we lose?"

"A few cities here and there. Nothing too major. Hold on, you mean you didn't know that? When was the last time you heard from your command?"

"Not much less than an hour ago." Fortna attempted to radio in to Scythe base. There was no reply save static. She paled somewhat.

"Anthony, get up here!" She called. "We've lost contact with Scythe base. Have someone check the hardline and try to raise the doctor. We need to know what's going on." Colonel Dalton rolled his eyes, calling up telemetry from the _Gravis Armum_ hovering above the mountain. It showed that the facility was perfectly fine, for the moment. A jamming field had been raised in the area, presumably by the other Coalition vessel in the sector. It was likely that the base would soon come under attack. Of course, the Spartans had no way of knowing that. He scoffed a little at this. They really did need saving if they couldn't even keep contact with their HQ only a few kilometers away.

"Calm down, Colonel." How did she get that rank like this, anyway? "The base is safe, for now. An enemy force is likely moving to it, however, and have deployed a jamming field. You probably won't be able to contact anyone outside of this hill."

"How...never mind. In that case, sir, I'd like to ask if we could requisition a few dropships. We need to help fortify that base immediately."

_You don't even have your own dropships?_ "What about this Relay?"

"You're here, aren't you?"

"We're going after that other vessel. In all likelihood, if Scythe comes under attack, it will be from that ship. We're doing you a favor."

"In that case, it's not likely that the Relay will come under attack again, is it? You destroyed the other ship, and the second is moving on Scythe Base. I'll leave the Marine group here and take the Army with me." Scythe base was, tactically speaking, far more important than the Relay. If the Relay went down, so did a good portion of the hemisphere. But if Scythe base went down, they'd lose a monumental amount of data, equipment, and personnel.

Realizing this, Dalton conceded the point. Arguing with the woman was just going to waste time.

"You get two HATC-H dropships. I'll send a few squads to support you. You'll probably need them. Hell, I'll even give you a pair of tanks, since you probably don't even have that."

**~~O~~**

The arrival of the trio of very heavily-armed ships at the base was met with some concern until the Spartans disembarked. They were greeted warmly by Doctor Bruger.

"We were concerned when the jamming field went up. We thought we were about to come under attack. I take it the relay held?"

"It did," Fortna answered. "Thanks to the arrival of a carrier from the Asylum fleet, we annihilated the enemy. However, this base is vulnerable to attack. An enemy vessel isn't far away. The Asylum ship, the _Gravis Armum_, went to try and deal with it. We don't know whether or not they've been successful. We should prepare for assault and evacuate vital assets." Bruger waved a hand at her Spartan subordinate.

"Follow me, Colonel. I've already prepared your escort assignment. The rest of you, resupply and recharge. Help load up the heavier items. I want to get as much tech off this base as possible. Sergeant Moore, find out what the Asylum soldiers need and see to it that they get it." Fortna followed her through several large tunnels to a small hangar. There, she stepped out of the AEGIS armor and left it on its charging rack. The doctor led her to her personal workspace. The gymnasium-sized space was filled with workers packing up all sorts of technical equipment. Bruger led her to the very back, to a small office separated from the room by panes of glass. These opaqued after the door slid closed. After a deep breath, the scientist spoke.

"I won't deny that what I'm about to say is very egotistical and more than a little selfish. But it's absolutely vital to the continuation of my research here, or it may eventually be. As you're aware, human minds can be mapped and recreated as AI constructs, which can contain all of the original person's thoughts and memories." She pulled a faintly glowing crystal out of its receptacle and placed it inside of a metal case. "This is my brain. Within it is my mind and research. Above all other things on this base, this one device must survive should we be overrun."

"Including people?"

"Yes. I hate to say this, but this is the single most important asset here. If I end up dying in all of this, that has to make it offworld and out of the system, eventually to Earth. The enemy can't get their hands on it and we can't afford to lose it." The Spartan nodded. Humanity wasn't on its back leg from the Covenant anymore, and times weren't nearly as desperate as they'd been in the past, but great minds were always a valuable commodity. Though not as lauded as her predecessor, Bruger's work was invaluable.

"I'll make sure it's delivered."

"Good. Now, I need you and your team to redeploy to help protect this base if this Colonel Dalton fails to stop the enemy. I'm uploading tactical data to your neural link now. You have your orders, get to it." Doctor Bruger sat down at the desk that spanned the length of the room and brought up evacuation reports. Fortna turned and exited the lab. In the back of her mind, she knew that the base would fall. The enemy was too powerful and numerous and they'd deployed almost all of everything they had. Even if they could call for help, it would never arrive in time.

Everything hinged on Dalton and the _Armum._

**~~O~~**

Colonel Dalton stood on the bridge of the _Gravis Armum _as it approached the enemy vessel. The ovular layout of the Captain's Dais provided him with easy access to the plethora of displays needed to command a vessel like the great carrier. Granted, he only used a few of them. The actual captain of the ship, a mostly mechanized man, handled all of the vital but tactically insignificant functions. Colonel Dalton was in charge of the ship, yes, but he wasn't qualified to run it. His expertise was mainly groundside-oriented.

"We're prepared to begin the attack at your command, sir." Dalton nodded to the Tactical Control station. The command to fire was sent down the great length of the ship. There was only a slight delay as electrical signals crossed kilometers. Then, capacitors charged and discharged, emptying energy into the lateral guns' power arrays. Light built within the barrels and pulsed, beams of excited particles lancing down at the enemy's shields. There was a tearing sound as the constituent gasses of the air around the beam were demolecularized. The plasma lance was answered, but from above.

The sky's unnatural hue had faded. Unbeknownst to the Colonel, the enemy had assaulted Relay 17 in force. The HAS in that area of the hemisphere was down, and the Coalition had seized upon the opportunity. A large vessel was descending upon the carrier, firing from within the upper reaches of the atmosphere. It was powerful, and had the advantage over the Asylum ship. The carrier's major weapons were lateral and ventral. In normal combat, it would be a small issue to rotate the ship to fire, but they were in atmosphere. It took a significant portion of the engine output to keep the ship from crashing into the mountainous terrain.

Dalton and the captain realized at the same time that fighting both Coalition vessels at once was risky at best. The _Gravis Armum_ was strong, but ultimately just a carrier. The attack was broken off and it pulled away, leaving a few parting shots and a pair of heavily loaded dropships.

HATC-H was the designation of the dropships. Heavy Assault Troop Carrier – Hybrid. Boxy and large, it bore several heavy support weapons for various roles. Swiveling thrust pods provided it with excellent agility. Cloaking devices provided it with the capability to fulfill infiltration roles. They'd been in use by the Asylum military for nearly a hundred years.

Two squads of Kasrkins watched the carrier peel away from its attack and lead the enemy vessel back up into Space. Colonel Dalton disembarked into a small canyon that led into a series of other canyons. The other ten Kasrkins quickly joined him and they set off in the direction of the enemy vessel. With them was a large, ugly slab of metal on treads. The ATT-X302"Land Raider" Main Battle Tank, which its crew had dubbed _Gilgamesh_, trundled after them, smashing rocks and small trees down in front of it.

It wasn't long before they encountered the first patrols.

"Alpha 3, take the jet trooper. Beta 2, the turret. Beta 1, ordnance to the Dark Trooper. Mark." At the same time, a Stormtrooper was knocked from his perch, a plasma charge detonated beneath an automated turret, and two large bolts of plasma speared the Dark Trooper and the cliff face behind it. Two more white-and-green armored soldiers ducked out of cover, firing shots off at the only thing they could see. It was a large battlesuit toting two shoulder-mounted cannons and a rapid fire plasma weapon on each hand. With these, it vaporized the two Stormtroopers.

"All right, move up! Heavies and tank lay covering fire while everyone else gets to that hatch!" Dalton broke cover first, putting a few shots towards the second emplacement. Right behind him came the second of the ten-foot battlesuits, both of which put a withering hail of burning matter over the other Kasrkins' heads and into the scattered enemy defenses. The remaining eight Asylum soldiers ran straight for the hatch to the lift between the overhead ship and the surface. The colonel was almost to it when it opened and a pair of Sith stepped out. Dalton wasted no time in vaulting over the first one to punch the other in the neck. He ducked under the lightsaber counter and continued on to the hatch, tossing a grenade ahead of him. Behind him, the Sith exploded as the plasma grenade attached to its neck went off. The other was cut down with overwhelming firepower from four different guns.

The Heavy Kasrkins quickly joined the regulars in the hatch, and the lift ascended into the bowels of the enemy ship. As it ascended, he received a brief message from the _Gravis Armum_. The enemy had begun to move.

The interior of the enemy vessel was fairly spartan. Grey and shades thereof were the primary colors of the walls in which the Kasrkins found themselves. Directly across from them in the hangar was a platform that was slowly descending, and in the walls to their left and right was a blast door. Above the platform, a window separated the Kasrkins from a trio of wide-eyed technicians who'd just realized why no one from the exit of the extendable lift outside had contacted them to let them know what all the shooting was about.

As if the thought of attack on the vessel itself wasn't worrying enough, now their enemy was inside.

The Kasrkins broke to the left, and none too soon as a large crane came down right where they had been standing. A quick blast from one of the larger plasma weapons turned the crane to slag, but then the response team arrived through the door on the right. By that time the Regulars had already made it through the left door, which the Heavies subsequently sealed. Dalton spared them little more than a passing thought as he and the rest of his team sprinted through the corridors. They could handle themselves, and their part in the assault was to hold the exit anyway. Armor like that would just slow them down in the bowels of a starship.

Speed turned out to be somewhat detrimental too, as the lead Kasrkin quickly found out. Had they not been moving so quickly, he might have been able to avoid the lightsaber that beheaded him. A robed and masked figure appeared as the cloaking device in his belt deactivated. He stood in the center of the corridor, impassive against the plasma he subtly deflected with flicks of his wrist. The Force was a powerful thing and, heated and swift they may be, bolts of plasma were still matter.

"Cease fire!" Dalton called. He weighed his options for a few seconds and decided upon the most efficient one. He stepped forward.

"Sergeant, find another way to the engines. I want this boat landed. I'll meet you at the exit." With a curt nod, the rest of the Kasrkins turned and headed back the way they'd come. Dalton drew his combat blade and advanced slowly upon the Sith.

"I hope you'd at least give me the courtesy of a name." The voice issuing from behind the mask was distorted, but he could tell it wasn't a normal human voice just the same.

"Colonel Dalton. And yourself?" The Sith bowed slightly, still not moving from his position in the doorway.

"I am Marauder Ornon Vhurt. It is a noble thing you have done, sacrificing yourself so that your people may accomplish their goal. It still won't work." Dalton shrugged.

"I didn't say I was dying." With abrupt swiftness considering his previous movement, he shot the Sith in the face.

Elsewhere, Sergeant Mason and the remaining Kasrkins had found another way to the engines. Unfortunately for a lot of people, that involved tearing straight through the barracks and medical wing. They stood outside the closed hatch that led into the first room of the soldiers' quarters. One of the Kasrkins was working at the opened control panel, trying to get the door to open so that they wouldn't have to blow it off the bulkhead.

"Just so we're clear, this is probably going to be a bad firefight. This is the barracks, and if this map is correct, it's directly linked to an armory. Whoever is in there is probably armed already. And there are probably a lot more of them than there are of us."

"Even fight, sir?" The one at the door piped in.

"You bet. Open it." The door hissed open and a pair of flash-bang grenades rolled through it. Immediately following the two-note cacophony were seven pairs of armor-plated boots. These stopped once they found what was inside. Rather, what wasn't.

Several benches and tables adorned the floor of the room. Beyond that was an open door, through which were rows of bunks and footlockers and the occasional door off to the side. Directly across the central path through the barracks from the Kasrkins was another door, this one also open. Within that was another room just like the one they stood looking at. The one thing missing was...

"It's empty?" Though their helmets had no visors, a glance passed between the Sergeant and his second.. He turned and made for the door.

"Out, out, everybody out now!"

Dalton lowered his pistol, smiling a little. The mask had broken off and lay in pieces on the floor. His smile faded as he saw what lay beneath it.

"Ah, hell. It was worth a try." He ducked under the first swing and brought his knife up to counter the second. Ornon didn't have a face, at least, not a human one. That explained the lack of a natural voice. Instead, the entire front of his head was metal and augmetics formed into a crude human skull.

"I must admit to some disappointment," the Sith said as he continued to batter at Dalton. "I usually save that particular unveiling for when my opponent thinks they've won. Oh, the faces they make!" The Colonel rolled back, springing to his feet a few meters away.

"I'm going to guess that your galaxy isn't big on abominations, is it? I've seen faces that make yours look like Carly Berin." He pulled out another knife and reversed his grip on it, edging forward. It took a moment to dawn on him that the Sith had no way of knowing who Carly Berin was. With the advent of widely-available genetic splicing and biological augmentations, the modeling industry transformed practically overnight to show off the latest restructuring. Vanity, it seems, is a human trait that is impossible to avoid.

"We have our share of horrors," Ornon said casually as he deflected a few stabs, "but in my line of work, it all just blurs together after a while. You know how it is. Kill enough, and everything becomes just another targ – oops!" The lightsaber clattered to the floor, a small, glowing knife sticking out of it. Dalton wasted no time in driving the other into the Sith's head, or trying to. A hand came up and took the blow instead, giving off a shower of sparks as the robotic arm received the shock.

"I'm disappointed. I'd hoped I could get a little more sport of you before I had to do this." With that, the Sith raised his undamaged left hand and pulled at the Colonel in front of him.

Nothing happened.

"What?" Another blade stabbed into his outstretched hand. Dalton moved forward and yanked the other one out of the false right arm. The Sith was still staring at his hand as blood dripped from the ruined limb.

"It's called a Blank field, in common language. Its scientific name is something I never bothered to learn. Right about now, you probably can't feel anything from what you call the Force. That's because these knives and most other close-combat weaponry we Kasrkins have are equipped with a device called a Nul-emitter. I don't really understand the principle myself. It has something to do with an energy field that cancels out those generated by the Warp. Oh well." He now stood directly in front of Ornon. "Mine, in particular, are also equipped with a paralyzing electrical shock. It would have worked the first time, but it seems your robotic limb is constructed to resist such things. Doesn't really matter, I guess." He drew his arm back and stabbed into the Sith's chest, twisting the blade. As he withdrew it, the voice spoke.

"Well fought. I could spout off about how it was an honorable duel, but I don't work like that." Dalton looked up at the Sith's face in alarm just as the unaffected limb split open to reveal a blaster.

The Kasrkins made it out of the barracks just before several hidden stun grenades went off. At either end of the corridor stood several Stormtroopers, weapons raised and already firing. Sergeant Mason would have pointed out how tactically inefficient it was to open fire and probably hit their own comrades on the other side of the Kasrkins, but a blaster bolt to his neck put a stop to any such thoughts. Or any other thoughts, for that matter.

Down at the entrance to the ship, the crew of _Gilgamesh_ watched a pair of explosions rip through the bay high above them. Among the other debris tumbling down was a very familiar shape. The shape resolved itself to be the torso and head of one of the Heavy units. It flopped onto the Land Raider with a loud clang, leaving a slight dent in its armored hull.

The tank commander, an older woman named Meredith Sulla, turned from the screen and ordered an immediate pullout. Those were the orders; if the hangar was lost, get to Scythe Base and reinforce it. As the Land Raider spun to leave the valley, a tank arrived on the lift and opened fire. It was quickly turned to slag by the heavier weapons, but not before loosing a pair of missiles which destroyed one of the turrets on the top. A few more blasts from the main cannon made sure that the lift wasn't going to be used anytime soon and the tank rolled out.

A few minutes later, they crested the top of a rise and saw the reason why the defense around the vessel had been so weak.

A kilometers-long column of transports was on a direct path to the distant Scythe Base, and the first part of it was almost there.

**~~O~~**

_One hour and twenty-two minutes later._

Fortna was about two feet from her armor when the shelling started. She listened to reports in her ear as she stepped into the suit and ran the activation checklist. The enemy had forgone the armored column tactic used at the HAS Relay and instead opted for a speed assault. Their limited artillery could only do so much against the sheer numbers rushing at the base, and in the end it came down to a running fight across a kilometer-wide battlefield, made more dangerous now that the enemy's artillery was in range. Six minutes later, she was on an elevator with Anthony on the way up to the surface to meet with the remaining Spartans. Anthony was telling her about the Kasrkin redeployment.

"...and I swear, this thing was bigger than a Scorpion. I hadn't gotten a good look at it when we were on the dropships, but Asylum knows how to build a tank."

"They still use treads? As advanced as they are, I'd have thought they would have hovercraft like the Covenant." Anthony chuckled a little.

"I asked the same question. The driver explained it. He said, 'You ever run someone over in an ATV? Kind of bumps around a lot? In a tank like this, you don't even notice that you just made human juice.'"

"That's disgusting. And it doesn't answer the question."

"Apparently, if you hit something with a hovercraft, you just knock it down and make rubble. With treads you can basically annihilate whatever you're running over. Not that a tank like that would have to get close to something to destroy it. I have no idea what those weapons are, but damned if they weren't powerful." Fortna nodded.

"Good. We might need an easy out when this goes South."

"Colonel?" The elevator stopped and the doors opened to reveal a hangar full of her Spartans. She walked out into their midst and raised a hand to get their attention.

"I've been tasked with making sure a very valuable asset makes it off of this planet should this base fall. And given what I'm hearing about what's coming, that seems likely. No amount of optimism is going to convince any sane person that we can weather this one. Even the AEGIS won't make a difference here. You're all much more useful to this war effort if you stay alive, so don't do anything stupid. Our target is the trio of walkers currently en route to the battlefield. They're already within striking distance and are doing a large amount of damage to the base. The objective is to destroy these in any way possible. That is all. If a retreat is sounded, your one and only objective is to make it back to this hangar within twenty minutes. The Asylum dropships will be waiting here for us." She stopped and placed her helmet on her head, locking the seals and activating the external speakers.

"Give 'em Hell."

The hangar doors opened and the line of grey-armored supersoldiers walked onto the battlefield. Death rained from their weapons as they marched, inexorably, towards their target. They walked over a set of trenches. Several soldiers within them stood and saluted the Spartan line, thankful for the arrival of the armored figures. They passed by one of the Asylum tanks that had been turned on its side by some gigantic explosion. Around it were littered the bodies of the enemy who had tried to oppose it. Its crew was trying to right it, and once Fortna aided them, the tank trundled to join them.

They came to the top of the valley walls and saw the battlefield. Tanks, bodies, smoke, fire, ash and scorched earth littered the battlefield like dust in a tomb. Muzzle flashes and the streaks of lasers lit up the slowly-darkening area. On the horizon, as a backdrop to the carnage, occasional flashes could be seen in the twilight as the battle in orbit continued. Streaks across the lit side of the sky showed where ships had gone down in the atmosphere. Distantly, the stomping of the three behemoths could be heard as they slowly advanced, destroying everything in their path.

With a cry, the Spartans of Scythe Base charged the trenches.

**End Part IV**

* * *

Well, it's been far, far too long, and I apologize for that, but I think previous author's notes have made the reasons for such delays clear.

I'll be honest, I haven't really got a clue what to say about this chapter other than that it took too long to write and that the next and penultimate chapter will be a lot easier to produce considering that a lot of this chapter was just setting up for it.

I realized about three months ago that my original plan was a little sparse in terms of detail and, in a lot of ways, sense. Thus, I started rewriting it and didn't get very far until I got the inspiration for the Kasrkins attacking the parked carrier.

I was asked a long time ago about when I was going to finish the Reach Station plot. As it happens, not until Reach, III. I could give a time frame on that, but I'm obviously bad at keeping to those. Seeing as this will be my single busiest year in school, writing might slow down even worse or speed up, depending upon what happens to my work ethic. Certainly, boring classes make for _excellent_ planning sessions. "Taking notes," indeed.

Somebody raised the question of why I openly stated that 40k was the future of humanity as predicted by psykers, but then went and changed things around (like why Kasrkins are obvious riffs off of the Tau Fire Caste). The answer is somewhat trivial; I never liked the Imperial Guard, and using Space Marines was too obvious. But I have always loved the Tau for some reason. However, calling them "Fire Warriors" and "Shas'Ui" would have made little sense, seeing as humanity doesn't use terms like that.

"But wait, you call them Kasrkins! That doesn't exist either." No, it doesn't. However, Kasr is the name of the world where Asylum essentially rose to power and became a serious threat to the Terran Regime. Thus, Kasrkin (broken down, Friend of Kasr) would actually be a good name for those who fight for Asylum outside of a standard military element. The original Kasrkins (one of whom was Daniels) were named such for this reason.

Besides that, in the Halo universe (the Past according to Asylum), humans have a lot of things that already work really well. Slipspace travel, for instance, is much, much more reliable than the Warp. And far less dangerous. Why bother developing Warp technology if you have something that works pretty well already? Of course, some fool makes the discovery anyway. This ends up being important later on.

Weaponized Blank gene? What the hell? Again, some fool makes a discovery. When radiation was discovered, and all of its potential, shortly thereafter a means to contain it was also found. Similarly, the creation of Warp technology necessitated the creation of the Blank field to contain it. Eventually, as humans do with everything, it gets turned into a portable, violent form. How this works is beyond me. I'm not a physicist/xenobiologist/theoretical astronomy expert. I'm a high school junior, damn it! Use your bloody imaginations.

Ahem.

Oh, joy, answers that raise more questions! Again! I've been writing for the Asylum universe in my idle time as well. It will all make sense in context.

As usual, read, review, and ask questions. Who knows, I might give a clear answer. Also note that updates have been made to the Technical Analyses archive.


	5. Part V: Drop the Sky

_**Part V**_

_**Drop the Sky**_

There was a keening wail and an inaudible bass note felt by anything touching the ground on the battlefield far away. It was paid little attention for, in the tumult of battle, it may as well have been just another explosion.

The battle took place in a valley that was watched over by Scythe Base, which was built into a mountain over the corpse of some previous construct. The sand and rock that made up the terrain of the area was colored in hues of red and brown, tainted by the black of weapon discharges. There was, actually, little in the way of blood on the battlefield. In the case of the Coalition, most of their soldiers were armored, which contained it, and in the case of the defenders of the fortress world, laser weapons cauterized any wounds. Discounting the smoky, charred and blasted landscape, it was a fairly clean battle.

At the other side of the valley was the mountain range that contained, deep within it, the vessel that had disgorged this assault. It had sneaked in through a hole in the HAS, opened up by the battle in orbit. It was from here that the low tone originated. Its engines powered as it prepared to lift its gargantuan bulk off of the surface of the burnt world. Mere minutes was all it needed to get into the air.

Then, it would pound Scythe Base to dust.

**~~O~~**

They'd split up so that they wouldn't all be killed by artillery or some similar misstep. Currently, Colonel Fortna had with her Anthony and six other Spartans. They ran through the trenches and craters of the battlefield, using the strife to screen their intent. They didn't even head in the same direction as the three walkers that strode across the war zone.

She stopped and gunned down a drone that flew overhead. It spat lasers even as it fell, peppering her Spartans. In the distraction, a pair of unlucky Stormtroopers, pursued by armor-piercing bullets, came diving over the lip of the trench and almost right on top of the Spartans. Their surprise was total. The muscle systems in the armor pulped them against the walls before they could react. A grenade came after them into the middle of the Spartans. Anthony idly tossed one of the dead Stormtroopers onto it. The damage to the Spartans was minimal.

A Scorpion tank rumbled over the trench, blasting at an unseen target. Abruptly, it stopped and shook before exploding into fragments and flames that showered the Spartans. They kept moving, and a short while later shells came down on that location.

Anthony risked a look up over the trench wall. In all directions, it was a similar scene. The battle had become total chaos. The only definitive lines were those directly in front of Scythe Base, where a relative handful of defenders held back the few enemies that got too close. He noted, somewhat belatedly, that they were getting closer to their target in a roundabout way. While it was their objective to destroy the walkers in any way possible, getting close was not a thought he particularly relished. He glanced at his Colonel as they continued to run, providing swift aid on their way.

He didn't really understand why the Colonel had insisted on coming along. Yes, she was a Spartan, and all of the remaining Spartans were likely going to be needed to kill the walkers, but she had also been tasked with ensuring the safety of the doctor's work. He said as much to her.

"I don't think we've lost just yet. And you know I hate to run from a fight," was her answer.

"You told us in the hangar that there was no way we could win this one. 'No amount of optimism will convince any sane person.' Your words," he said. She stopped suddenly, and he thought she was about to reprimand her when she threw herself to the ground. The rest of the Spartans followed suit as an immense amount of bullets and lasers tore apart the ground just outside of the trench. Rocks and sand rained down into the pit, mixed with the body parts of several of the enemy and their robotic warriors. One of the Asylum tanks came roaring over the top of the trench, further showering them with debris. For a slab of metal of its size, it moved with intense speed. A quick look over the wall showed the crushed remains of a pair of dark-robed Force adepts.

"Anthony, we're Spartans," Fortna said as she waved them on. "We're not sane by any definition. We volunteer for the craziest suicide missions because we can. Until defeat is guaranteed, I'll fight." Beneath her helmet, she allowed herself a small smile. "I only told the others that so that they'd fight even harder."

**~~O~~**

The Sith's metal face seemed to smile as they both slumped to the floor. The pain was immense. Whatever he'd been shot with had utterly destroyed his side, and the only reason he was still conscious was because of the stimulants in portions of his armor. The pain faded to a more tolerable level, though he would still be screaming if he had any breath. It was the most he could do just to remain upright against the wall.

Dalton glanced down at the Sith. Obviously dead, with no heart. The only reason he'd been able to talk through the paralytic electricity was because his vocal cords were artificial, as were his lungs and windpipe. Unfortunately for him, the same could not be said of his heart. The blade had torn that to pieces.

Stooping, Dalton grabbed the Sith's cloak and wound it tightly around the hole in his armor before filling the space with biofoam from his belt. It wouldn't hold long, with a wound like that. The readout on his HUD showed that his entire team was dead or offline. He did not pause to mourn them. The Kasrkin's duty was to fight for humanity until it died. No Kasrkin wished for a ritualized funeral. Baptism and eventual subsumption by the fires of war was the preferred method of remembrance for the defenders of humanity. He continued to lean against the wall as he straightened up and steadied himself. Then, he dragged himself along, meter by meter, down the corridor.

**~~O~~**

The walkers were close now, beginning to march over the trenches. They spat explosive death across the battlefield, oblivious or indifferent that they often hit their own soldiers in the attempt to stamp the defenders out. While they showed some signs of damage from the heavier artillery that had been aimed their way, they weren't impaired in the slightest. They were starting to become a major hassle for everyone on the ground.

"This is Green Team. We're in position to infiltrate the third target." Colonel Fortna looked up at the walker that towered over her team. That was the third squad to check in as ready, and that was all they needed.

"This is Leader. Engage the targets." Watching from far away, one might have thought that someone had launched a close-range missile strike against the behemoths. In actuality, two dozen Spartan IV's in AEGIS armor had activated thrust packs and jetted up toward the vulnerable tops of the plated giants. As this happened, massed artillery began to rain down in the area around the legs of the walkers. Those unfortunates caught in that shrapnel-filled Hell were forced to take cover or die very suddenly. The Spartans got their opening.

Fortna, fittingly, finished the flight first and landed with a metallic thud on the back of the giant. Perhaps having learned from the demise of their counterpart at Relay 17, the soldiers within the walkers were ready to repel boarders. The first of them popped out of a dorsal hatch, gun at the ready, and received a powered kick to the back of the head. His neck and collarbone bent at a ninety-degree angle from his torso and his armor folded open. Those within only saw his body collapse back down the ladder before it was followed by the feet that killed him.

The corridor was cramped for the Colonel. Her suit took up much of the available space, only enough for two normal-sized people to pass by, and it made turning around difficult. Fortunately for her, it wasn't necessary to do so. The enemy was in front of her. What the cramped quarters did provide was the ability to smash the enemy against the walls with simple flails of her arms. Those who were out of range quickly fell to her laser. She quickly set to rampaging through the interior of the walker.

Behind her came Anthony. His objective was somewhat more subtle. While the Colonel provided an excellent distraction, it was his task to actually destroy the gargantuan construct. He could hear the other Spartans beginning to infiltrate in other access ports.

The walkers weren't actually that large, that six Spartans were needed to bring down each one. However, numbers meant an increased chance of success. While they would have been useful elsewhere on the battlefield, it wouldn't matter if the walkers destroyed the base. That and, because they had no idea where the controls or engines were, they could spread out easier.

He noted that, from the inside, the walkers were definitely bigger than they seemed. Granted, he hadn't really seen them up close for very long, as they towered over the battlefield. As he thought upon it, he noted with some belatedness that the machines were hideously impractical. Likely, this meant that they would only be constructed because they were needed to crack open a similarly impractical fortress. He wondered what a battle in the other galaxy must be like, if constructs of this scale were necessary for simple assaults. It wasn't something he was particularly keen on finding out, but he probably would anyway, given how quickly things were going to hell.

He realized that that Forerunner, advanced as they were, actually had constructed hideously impractical fortresses. Entire planets, actually. And those were only made as a countermeasure to their own weaponry, designed to destroy on a galactic scale. Perhaps these walkers weren't as improbable as he'd thought.

His thoughts were broken when he ran into something that hadn't been in his way until a moment ago. A heavy door slid across the corridor he was walking down. One behind him did as well. He had begun to put his plasma blade to the door when he heard a whine filling the hall behind him. He turned around in time for a power conduit to explode, filling the corridor with bolts of ionized particles.

Elsewhere, Colonel Fortna was running into a similar problem. Her issue, however, was not an overloading power conduit. She had encountered into blast door after blast door, and it was slowing her down considerably. She had to cut through each one with the blade, slow as that was. The burn-through mines she and the other Spartans carried were to be saved for when she had to make a quick exit if the walker collapsed or exploded. They hadn't considered the need for breaching charges within a land-based machine of war. Then again, the thing was like a walking battleship.

After the fifth door, she started wondering why the other Spartans hadn't found the control room or engines and shut this thing down yet. They'd been inside it about ten minutes, which should have been plenty of time. She also questioned why she hadn't encountered as much resistance as was expected. This was abruptly answered when an alien in brown robes appeared in the corridor behind her and waved his hand. Her smirk of amusement disappeared when that hand wave tossed her bodily against the door she'd been cutting open.

**~~O~~**

He was being followed, he knew. The motion sensors told him as much. The clattering of boots made it clear moments later. He had a few minutes left, he knew. He was injured, not crippled. The tripwire grenades going off gave him a slight smile before the pain set in again.

He hadn't even tried to cover his movements. The smears of blood along the wall and the piles of dead he left behind were trail enough, and the enemy doubtless had lifesign sensors laced throughout the vessel. With most of the soldiers out assaulting the base, though, most of what he'd had to deal with was the ship's crew. He had no issue shooting an unarmed opponent, even if they begged. Especially if they begged.

He hated begging.

He'd used up the last of his stimulants a few corners ago, and he was finding it difficult to remain focused. Genetically-altered and cybernetically-enhanced though he may be, he was still human. The brain did funny things when it was missing some chemical or fluid or other. Blood was a pretty big one. He was certainly lacking in that.

He wouldn't need much more of it, though. He was getting close to his destination. A few corners away, he felt the ship lift off of the ground.

**~~O~~**

Fortna grunted as she tried to push off the wall, but it felt like she was held by steel bonds. The man held his hand in the air, and it seemed to press her into the metal. She herself could feel the pressure, even through the suit. She ran this through her mind. She'd been briefed on these Force users and what they were theoretically capable of. She'd seen them toss armored bodies up hills, seen them make leaps that would have been impossible. That could all be done with technology, though. This, on the other hand, was some really strange stuff. The Jedi wasn't even under any considerable strain, or didn't appear to be. Telepathy was supposed to be fictional.

The Jedi was eying her as though analyzing a specimen in a lab. He walked forward slowly, until he was almost touching her armor with his outstretched arm. The other hand held, instead of one of the energy blades those adepts commonly held ("lightsabers," her mind recalled), a small, boxy device which he swept over the armored plates. There was a faint beeping noise and the light issuing from the screen changed into a readout Fortna couldn't understand.

Upon realizing that the Jedi was analyzing her armor, probably for weaknesses, she did the only thing she could. A simple squeeze of the trigger on the grenade launcher, and the corridor blossomed into flames.

The visor opaqued itself to protect her from the flare of the plasma charge, but the EMP created by the blast was sufficient to disable several of the systems in the suit. Specifically, her shields and primary weapon. The servos were, for safety purposes, shielded from EMP as best as they could be, so she retained her movement.

The Jedi did not fare so well. Caught off-guard by the sudden explosion a few feet away from him, he was wreathed in plasma-fueled flames. The hold on the Colonel ceased and she dropped to the floor in front of the burning corpse.

Her weapons were fried, that much was certain. She tried the plasma blade, but it had been damaged by the point-blank grenade. She looked down at the corpse and noticed the hilt of one of the Jedi energy blades. Surprisingly, it was mostly undamaged. After fiddling with it for a moment, it sprang to life, digging a small hole in the wall. Rolling her wrist a few times to get a feel for the weapon, Fortna turned and slashed at the door that had closed in front of her. It fell to pieces under the blade.

Behind it lay the engines.

Half a minute later, she had turned around and was sprinting back through the corridors to find Anthony and the rest of her Spartans, the untouched engines completely forgotten.

**~~O~~**

Consciousness returned with a triumphant, yelling voice in his ear. Anthony looked at the inside of his faceplate and let out a breath of annoyance. Whatever had hit him had shocked most of the armor systems into automatic shutdown for his own safety. It wouldn't do for the servos to go into overdrive and tear his limbs off.

He put a hand to his ears to block out the yelling voice. They met metal. Oh, right, helmet. The voice was a radio. It was saying something about winning. Or not believing that they'd won. He recalled something from a history text about a similar line just before something blew up. Wait a second.

He rolled over and pushed himself to his feet, the HUD coming online at his command. That voice was one of the commanders on the battlefield below. The enemy was retreating, it was saying. Even the walker was turning around. He didn't miss the singular "walker." The other two teams must have been successful, then. But why would they retreat? He moved to a window, waiting for his head to stop swimming some. It was a small circle, probably only there for aesthetic purposes rather than to let in light. It happened to be pointed in the right direction for him to see what those down below couldn't from where they were.

The enemy vessel was on its way.

The Colonel came running around a corridor, skidding to a halt as she saw him. There was a slight pause. He pointed to the window, then let his hand drop to his side. She moved to see, and shook her head.

"I already knew. Othello told me after his team took out the third walker and the enemy's ground troops started retreating. I guess that means Dalton failed." She had little personal respect for the Kasrkin, but from what she could tell, he _was _a good soldier. Even if she hadn't liked him, it was a waste.

"Should we finish the mission, sir?" Anthony's voice was flat. He knew that, eventually, the fate of Spartans was to die in a failed mission. They just didn't grow old, or if they did, it was because they were rendered unfit for combat to begin with. That fact didn't lessen the blow any, though. There wasn't enough time to get back to the base and evacuate, and even if there was, they'd be shot out of the sky. Even if they did manage to escape, the rest of the people left in the area would be pounded into dust. There was no intervention this time. All reinforcements were expended.

"I still have my appointed task, Anthony. As much as I hate to say it, this walker is probably our only way out of here alive. If we can commandeer it, we might be able to make it off the battlefield before that ship burns everything within a kilometer."

"The control center, then?" She nodded. How they were going to pilot the thing, she had no idea, but there wasn't much in the way of other options.

**~~O~~**

Three bodies lay on the floor behind him. A fourth was crushed in the door to the chamber, and a fifth was sprawled in the corridor beyond that. Unfortunate technicians who got in his way. They had managed to call for help. He didn't have a whole lot of time.

It wasn't needed, though. He didn't need a whole lot of time. Before him was a console, and beyond that the great heart of the ship he had fought through. Its pulse filled the room and reverberated through the vessel.

He stumbled as his vision swam and lost focus. He was out of time. He managed to press the correct sequence of buttons on the blood-smeared console to lower the containment field around the reactors. Then, he unsealed his torso armor to get at the power pack on the back. The small fusion core would run indefinitely and create an explosion the size of a small bomb. It wouldn't be nearly enough to actually breach or even damage the reactor, but it didn't have to.

He crawled to a hatch near the console. Behind it lay a series of tubes and coolant pipes. A power conduit, one of the mainlines to the control center of the ship. He shoved the power pack between the reinforced tubes and primed it.

The door squelched open behind him and a team of stormtroopers entered, guns at the ready. He slid to the floor, his bare back scraping down the metal. Unconsciousness claimed his mind just before the explosion claimed his corpse.

**~~O~~**

The battlefield, previously silent of the cracking of weapons and the heat of energy weaponry, became home to a new sound. The low bass note that had been ever present since a short time after the Spartans deployed had ceased, leaving an unnatural void. This void was filled by a piercing wail that was accompanied a short time later by a deep roar of damaged engines.

It took a few minutes for the realization to circulate around the battlefield. By that time Scythe Base had figured out what was going on and issued an immediate retreat order for the soldiers, but they knew it was too late for that.

Deep below the mountain and layers of construction, in an empty and disheveled laboratory, Doctor Bruger sat at a table with several other people who had ended up near there during the scurried evacuation. A few of her subordinates, a pair of janitorial staff, and a trio of medics and a Marine missing a leg. Between them on the table was a pair of wine bottles and a set of decanters.

Above, the sky flared red as the intermittent clouds caught the light of the sun as it began to set, mixed with the occasional flash visible from the battle kilometers above. The sunlight hit the approaching vessel as it began to plummet. Then, the sun was blotted out by the brightness issuing from the impact.

Colonel Fortna and her subordinate watched it take place from a screen in the control center of the walker. The shock wave of the impact reached the walker first through the ground, then the blast of displaced air from the explosion tipped it over. They stood, bracing themselves against whatever they could as it struck the ground. They were tossed about like rag dolls.

Briefly, Fortna wondered about the other Spartans, and if any of them had made it to the rendezvous or survived some other way. The final thought that passed through her mind before her head struck a support beam on the ceiling was that this was probably a stupid way to die.

**Halo Versus Star Wars**

**-Reach, I-**

**End **

* * *

**Aiyah**, but it's been far too long. Even I think it's been far too long.

Actually, this file has been sitting on my hard drive for a couple months. For some reason, I never put it up. Oh well.

I might stick an End Notes in here sometime, but I don't really know what needs to be explained, really. I've been working on a couple of other projects lately, and they tend to eat my time.

Yes, yes, that was a horrible way to end it. Tehe. But hey, there's more. Reach, II is the next thing I'll be writing, which will follow events on another part of Reach. After that (God only knows when!) will be Reach, III, which will tie it all together.

You know, it's funny how much writing you can get done during lectures. I've got enough material for a 36-chapter story and another trilogy already, not to mention an entirely separate fanfic that's in the works.

As for when any of that will get done, that's anybody's guess right now.


End file.
